


Alaskan Interlude

by Hot_elf, PhryneFicathon



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Sex on a bearskin rug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-02-23 14:05:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13191651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hot_elf/pseuds/Hot_elf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon
Summary: Jack and Phryne travel to Fairbanks, Alaska, where Phryne is set to take part in a flight show. But what was intended to be a short demonstration flight, soon becomes a lot more exciting - and romantic. Set after season 3 and Phryne's return from England. Established relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/gifts).



> Huggles and thanks to my wonderful beta suilven. --Hot_elf

To the end of his days, Jack was never quite sure how they'd ended up in Alaska.

The train journey had been uncomfortable, to say the least, and their poky hotel room in Fairbanks was a far cry indeed from Miss Fisher's usual haunts. Its furniture had seen better days, the curtains were grimy, and there had been a faint, but unmistakable smell of fish in the lobby. Shivering in the cool air, Jack wandered over to the window to check out the view. 

Two lonely cars were puttering along an unpaved street that was crowded with rugged gold miners, their shaggy dogs at their heels. It was still light outside despite the late hour - Jack kept checking his watch - but the saloons and dance halls were brightly and gaudily lit, and no one seemed in the mood for sleeping. _At least they have electricity._

"Anything exciting going on?" Phryne joined him at the window, craning her neck to see past his shoulder.

"Hardly." He shook his head. "Really, Phryne, I still don't see why you had to drag me up here. We could be in Florida now, having cocktails at the beach. Or visiting a museum in New York. They have quite an amazing collection of European paintings, I believe."

"Oh, please, Jack." Phryne sounded a tad impatient. "How could I possibly decline when Lily Irvine asked me? She is one of my oldest friends, and I've admired her for as long as I can remember. Besides, it's such an exciting proposition, don't you think?"

Jack sighed. He'd already met Lily Irvine, or Lily Martin rather, now that she was married. Attractive and vivacious, she was an enthusiastic aviatrix, much like Phryne herself. Apparently, she and her husband had been the first to fly a plane from Fairbanks, back in 1913 – a huge event in the town's brief history. Somehow Lily had managed to persuade the local newspaper, which went by the witty moniker of _The Fairbanks Daily News-Miner_ , to sponsor an aviation event to commemorate that momentous occasion. Phryne had been invited to fly one of the planes, and of course she'd jumped at the chance. 

He shivered again. Damn it, this was supposed to be July. He could remember spring days in Melbourne that had been more temperate. "Maybe I should ask for an additional blanket," he muttered. 

"Oh, come on, Jack." Wrapping her arms around his neck, Phryne breathed a kiss on his cheek. "Stop complaining. It's not really that cold. Besides, I told you to bring your woollen sweater, didn't I?"

"Woollen sweaters in summer." He made a face. "Why would anyone choose to live here?"

"Well, they do look good on you." A slight tilt of her hips brought their bodies in full contact, and now he was shivering for a completely different reason. "You know, I think it's time for bed. After all, we need to be up early tomorrow."

* * *

'Early' was a relative term, where Phryne was concerned, but only ten hours later, they were sitting in the hotel's rather spartan dining room, enjoying a solid breakfast and a cup of scalding hot coffee. 

The demonstration flights were set to start at noon, but Phryne had insisted that she needed plenty of time to familiarize herself with the plane Lily had picked for her – a vintage propeller machine, chosen in honour of the intrepid bush pilots of the early twenties. Jack himself vastly preferred the modern cabin planes, especially in chillier temperatures. Yet, it was hard to resist Phryne's bright, happy smile, when she first set sight on the tiny biplane Lily had assigned to her.

"Look, Jack! Isn't she a beauty?" Phryne ran her hand lovingly over the faded cloth covering of the lower wing. "I can't wait until we're up in the air!"

"We?" Jack couldn't believe his ears. "Are you actually suggesting-"

"Well, I assumed you were coming with me, of course." Phryne's smile was altogether too innocent. "That's why I asked Lily for a two-seater. You're not afraid, are you?"

"Of course not." Jack clenched his teeth. 

Watching Phryne risk her life in one of these little deathtraps was bad enough, but actually joining her up there… _Well, at least we'll go down together_ , a small logical voice in his head pointed out. And he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of admitting how scary the prospect was. He still had vivid – and decidedly unpleasant - memories of that RAAF chap she'd been involved with. _Captain Lyle Compton_. _I bet_ he _would happily share a plane with her again._

"You should have warned me." He kept his tone light. "I could have dressed for the part."

"You look fine to me." Phryne shrugged. "Besides, I've got all you need. Here." She handed him a leather coat, goggles and a helmet, and a pair of gloves. "Now you're all set."

Phryne's own sartorial choices were spot-on, as always. Clad in a charming light coat and scarf and high boots, she looked every inch the pilot. And somehow, she managed to make even the helmet look fashionable and cute. Looking at her, Jack could almost forget what lay ahead. _Almost_.

The set hour approached faster than he would have liked, and they climbed aboard amidst cheers and laughter. A small crowd had assembled at the airfield, and everyone seemed to be in a holiday mood. Of course, none of them actually had to go _up_ there.

Jack kept his eyes firmly shut during take-off, until the plane had stopped shaking quite so much, and the icy air on his face told him they had reached their flight altitude. Behind him, Phryne was whooping with sheer joy. Carefully he opened his eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. 

The ground was far away, worryingly far. Below, he could just about make out the airfield. The people who had gathered for the event looked like tiny little insects from up here. Slowly, he breathed in and out again, willing himself to relax. He knew he could trust Phryne. She was an experienced pilot and they wouldn't be gone for long. Just a few rounds above the field, and then-

"Phryne! Where are we going?" Twisting his neck, he tried to see her face. He wasn't even sure she could hear him over the din of the engine.

"Down the river." Her voice was giddy with excitement. "Just a quick spin. We'll be back before you know it."

Jack cursed under his breath, but to be honest, he couldn't even muster the energy to be mad. He should have known she wouldn't be content with just a show flight. And as they followed the course of the river, he had to admit that the view from the plane was beautiful: the dark trees and the smooth green grass, the sunlight gleaming on the water, the dark, menacing clouds building on the horizon… _Wait a minute_! He was pretty sure those hadn't been there when they'd set off. 

"Phryne!" Again, he tried to get her attention.

"I've seen them." She sounded worried now. "I'm turning back as soon as I can."

He nodded, relieved beyond words, but his relief soon turned to concern. Faster than he could have imagined, the clouds approached, and a heavy gust of wind shook their plane. His stomach lurched dangerously, while behind him, Phryne cursed a blue streak. Another squall, stronger this time, and the plane's metal joints were creaking in a rather alarming fashion. He closed his eyes again, but that only made it worse. Thick raindrops began to fall, and the formerly blue sky had turned pitch dark, with thick streaks of clouds swirling around them. And they were rapidly losing altitude.

"What are you doing?" He had to shout this time, to make himself heard.

"I'm taking her down." There was the tiniest hint of panic in Phryne's voice now. "Hold on. This might be-" The rest of her words were lost as another gust of wind rocked them. Jack began to pray.

* * *

It wasn't going to be an elegant landing, or even a safe one, but Phryne knew she had no choice. With visibility as low as it was and the wind tossing them around, every minute spent in the air risked being their last. At least she'd had the sense to follow the river. The gravelly bank was wide enough to serve as a decent approximation of an air strip, and with a little luck they ought to be able to get out of this unharmed. And as soon as the rainstorm was over, they could head back. But first…

All other thoughts and considerations fell away as she focussed on the emergency landing, bracing for impact. Silently, she counted down the last seconds: five, four, three, two-

They hit the ground at _almost_ the right angle, skidding to a halt across the gravel. Yet the moment they made contact, Phryne heard a sickening crunch that made her heart sink. _Damn it!_ She'd heard that noise before – a propeller splintering on impact - and she knew from experience that she wouldn’t be able to repair or replace it. _Damn, damn, damn!_

They were safely on the ground. But they were also stuck out here, in the Alaskan wilderness, far from any sign of human habitation. _What now?_


	2. Chapter 2

"Jack?" She'd dreaded his reaction when she turned around, but fortunately he looked more relieved than angry. "Are you all right?"

"I believe so." He flinched a little as he wiggled out of his seat, but he didn't seem to be in actual pain. _Good_. "You?"

"Oh, I'm fine." Climbing out of the plane, she glared up at the cloudy sky. "For a given value of 'fine'."

Jack actually smiled at that, but his face quickly turned serious again. "So, what do we do now? Wait until the storm has passed and then fly back?"

"I'm afraid it's a teensy bit more complicated." Phryne turned up the collar of her coat against the rain. "Let me show you."

When Jack saw what was left of the propeller, he turned pale. "Dear God, Phryne. We could have-"

"It looks worse than it is." Phryne sighed. "Those old wooden props are quite fragile. I should have brought a spare. But I hadn't really planned for an emergency landing."

"Really?" Jack raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "And here I was thinking that you had prepared a special surprise for me."

"Jack, please." She directed her glare at him. "Let's stay focussed. We need to find a telegraph station."

"Out here?" Jack shook his head. "Forgive me if I'm not overly optimistic."

Phryne bit back an irritated response. He did have a reason to be mad at her, much as she hated to admit it. "You may be surprised to hear it, but almost every village has a telegraph out here, for good reasons. As soon as we find the next little town, we ought to be all set."

Jack nodded reluctantly. "I'll take your word for it. Of course, that still leaves us with the problem of _finding_ the next little town."

"It does," Phryne admitted. Much as she appreciated Jack's astuteness, there were moments when she wished he wasn't quite as quick to find the weak spots in her theories. "Let me see… We ought to follow the river. People usually settle near waterways. Come on. We'll be fine." And she set off toward the shore at what she hoped was a confident pace. 

There was a sort of path along the river, a dog team trail maybe, though it was hard to tell at this time of the year. It wasn't much, but in the absence of a better choice, they kept walking quietly, focussing all their energy on the march. After a while the rain let up a little, and Phryne breathed a sigh of relief.

She was about to turn a corner, when she heard a cracking noise ahead and froze in her tracks. 

"What is it?" Jack was close behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek as he whispered in her ear.

"No idea?" Phryne realized she was trembling a little. Probably a delayed reaction to the emergency landing. "A moose maybe?"

"Or a bear." Jack swallowed. "The hotel owner mentioned bears. And wolves." His hand tightened on her shoulder. "Phryne, I-"

"Shhh." She leaned back against him, grateful for his solid warmth as they waited with bated breath. "I think it's gone."

"Good." Jack's grip loosened, turning into a brief caress. "I guess I'm not really cut out for adventures in the wilderness."

Phryne didn't reply, but secretly she agreed. She didn't fancy meeting more of the local fauna either. The mosquitoes were quite enough of a pain. Carefully, they moved on. It was already getting dark by the time they spotted a thin column of smoke above the trees. 

"There! Jack!" Phryne didn't quite succeed in hiding her relief. "A town. I knew it."

* * *

Two hours later, they had made themselves as comfortable as possible in a tiny log cabin, whose owner made some extra money by renting it out to the rare passing travellers. The good people of Two Rivers had greeted them with a fair amount of curiosity, but they had been friendly and helpful. When Phryne had introduced herself as "Miss Fisher, lady detective", there had been a collective murmur of amusement, but she had quickly managed to assert her authority. She had telegraphed Lily, but by the time they'd got it all sorted out, it had already been too dark to mount a rescue mission.

And now here they were. It was almost cozy, in a way, with a log fire burning in the fireplace and the wind howling outside.

"Jack." Phryne appeared in the doorway leading to the bedroom. "Are you still mad at me?"

She looked pale and tired with her make-up washed off, and she had traded her soaked clothes for an old, over-sized man's flannel shirt. She looked much younger like this, and more vulnerable, and his remaining anger didn't stand a chance.

Walking over to her, he pulled her into his arms. "No. Provided…" He raised an admonishing finger. "Provided you stick to the plan next time. No more bears and wolves. And no more surprise landings."

"I'll do my best." Leaning her head against his chest, she hummed happily. "Though, really, I don't mind being here with you. It's much nicer than our hotel room. And it won't be for long. Lily will be here with the replacement prop tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" He placed a tender kiss on her hair. "If the storm doesn't let up, we may be stuck here for days." Knowing Phryne, she would get bored soon enough.

"Aw, come on, Jack." He couldn't see her face, but her smile was audible. "At least it's not winter. You should hear the tales they tell about the early bush pilots. They were fearless and fierce, and they could land anywhere. And if they were forced down in winter, they sometimes had to wait weeks until a dog team arrived with any spare parts they needed. Imagine being stuck here forever." She sighed, shivering all over. "You know, I have rather fond memories of the last time we were snowed in. Remember, Jack? So romantic."

Of course he remembered. He wasn't likely to forget Phryne's Christmas in July trip and all that had ensued. 

"I don't know, Miss Fisher." He ran his hand teasingly down her back. "If I recall correctly, we ended up with five or six dead bodies last time. Not my idea of a romantic interlude."

"Well, no one here has died yet." Phryne tilted her head back for a kiss. "Apart from our furry friend over there."

There was a big bearskin rug on the floor near the fireplace – something Jack hadn't been sure existed outside of American movies. It did look real enough, though, and actually rather inviting.

Phryne must have thought along the same lines. Freeing herself from his embrace, she took several steps backward until she sank down gracefully on the rug and started to unbutton her shirt. "See? Romantic." 

Jack swallowed hard. "That's not the first word that comes to my mind."

Phryne just smiled, baring yet another inch of smooth white skin to his eyes. "You know, you really should take off those damp clothes. You might catch a cold."

"As you wish, Miss Fisher." Shrugging off his shirt, he hurried to comply, enjoying the way her gaze lingered on his bare chest. "You didn't happen to bring your… device?" It was probably too much to hope, he knew, and of course there were other things they could do, but-

"Well, as a matter of fact I inserted it before leaving." Phryne was fiddling with the last button now. "I was anticipating some kind of celebration after the event, you see. And now my foresight is about to pay off, I believe."


	3. Chapter 3

Jack was dizzy with desire, unable to take his eyes off Phryne. How could this possibly still be so exciting? They had been together for months now, ever since that wild night in London, and they had made love in every way imaginable, including quite a few that he had never considered before. But he hadn't had enough of her, and he wasn't sure he ever would.

A tiny shrug caused the shirt to slide off her shoulder, making him groan.

"Come here, Jack." Phryne's eyes looked huge in the dim light. "Allow me…"

Already her hands were on him, quickly baring him to her touch, and then she wrapped those long graceful fingers around him and he almost lost it. "Dear God, Phryne." 

She knew him so well by now, knew exactly what he craved, what he needed. She also knew when to stop, fortunately, because he was rapidly losing control. Pulling him down onto the rug with her, she wrapped her long legs around his, while their lips met for a long kiss. And she tasted like heaven, hot and delicious, and her skin was like silk under his hands, and her moans were the sweetest sounds he'd ever heard.

Jack kissed a hot trail down her throat, then lower down, until his mouth closed around a perky nipple. And that, too, was so good, so intoxicating, so utterly overwhelming. Phryne seemed to agree, judging from her happy sighs. She hadn't bothered with underwear, so when he tentatively ran his hand up her bare thigh, there was nothing between him and what he wanted most. She was hot, hot and wet, and she opened up without a moment's hesitation. But he forced himself to be patient and thorough, his fingers dancing over her flesh until she was whining with impatience.

Yet when he tried to move between her legs, she shook her head. "No. I have a better idea."

She pushed against his shoulder until he rolled on his back, then straddled him in a swift move. And yes, this was perfect, because now he could see her, watch the beautiful patterns the light from the fire made on her pale skin, watch her, as she slowly lowered herself down on him. The bearskin rug was warm and soft under his naked back and the room smelled of smoke and sex and a hint of Phryne's perfume. He could hear the patter of rain on the cabin's roof, but in here it was warm and dry. And when Phryne began to move, he rapidly lost the capacity to think clearly.

* * *

Phryne wasn't fond of rustic accommodations, as a rule, but she had to admit that the cabin was charming. Or was it just being alone with Jack, in this warm cocoon, protected from the elements and the world outside? They had travelled so much in the past few months, and she had introduced him to all the people she cared about. But now she found she was tired of company, tired of witty conversations and fashionable venues. Being here with him, just him, was both relaxing and intriguing – and she'd certainly never felt like that about any other man.

He felt so good inside her, too, a perfect fit, long and hard and lovely. Phryne knew she would never get enough of the look on his face as they made love, so earnestly focussed, almost in awe, as if he still couldn't quite believe he got to have her. They had danced around this for so long. So many months of teasing him, of denying herself the pleasure of his touch. And now he was all hers, whenever she wanted him, and Phryne wasn't too jaded to appreciate it.

Slowly she lifted herself up, just a few inches, then slid back down, holding his gaze all the time. Jack responded with a deep, throaty moan and a tiny twitch of his hips, but he kept still, allowing her to take the lead. Always so patient, so controlled... And oh, how she loved to break his control. Smiling lasciviously, she leaned back a little, cupping her breasts in both hands and pinching her nipples until they were stiff and rosy.

"God, Phryne." His hands clenched into fists, as he watched her avidly, hungrily. "You are so-"

She tightened around him, cutting him off mid-sentence, and now she allowed her hands to wander lower, down across her stomach in a gentle caress and then between her legs. His hot gaze on her skin was almost tangible, and it excited her at least as much as her own touch. 

"Phryne, please." There were fine pearls of sweat on his forehead. "Let me…"

One of his hands settled on top of hers, exerting just enough pressure to make her shudder all over. His eyes went wide at that, and he thrust up once, quick and hard, making her cry out with the sudden, sweet shock of it. 

"More?" Jack was trembling now, his eyes feverish with want. 

"Yes. Oh, please, yes." She pushed herself up a little further, to allow him more freedom to move, and he didn't disappoint her. 

Fast, hard thrusts, quick and to the point, and at the same time his fingers kept up their pressure on her core, soft yet insistent. Phryne felt the pleasure build inside her, quickly spiralling upward, every cell in her body buzzing with anticipation. Jack was biting his lip hard, clearly struggling to keep it together. And she was so close to her own climax already, so very close… The next time he thrust up, she clenched hard around him, crying out his name, and he went taut all over. 

"Phryne. I love you so much." His hand pressed down hard, and she saw stars, and then they were both coming, together, both of them panting and shivering, and it was so perfect she wanted to cry.

"Jack." Leaning forward, she clung tight to him, so close she could feel each his heart race under his skin. "I love you."

* * *

Jack nearly fell asleep there, on the rug, with Phryne stretched out gracefully on top of him, dishevelled and out of breath and unspeakably beautiful. But eventually his back reminded him that he wasn't used to such unconventional sleeping arrangements. They got up and washed and climbed into the narrow, creaking bed, too exhausted to care about the lack of comfort, and they fell asleep almost immediately.

The next morning dawned pale and cold, but at least it had stopped raining. Jack ventured out of bed first and managed to make coffee on the ancient woodstove. They shared a mug of the hot brew and then got dressed quickly - though there really was no rush, Jack mused. It wasn't as if there was much to do here, or at least no activity suited to bright daylight. Phryne started leafing through a heap of ancient magazines, and he busied himself with lighting a new fire. They were probably in for a long, boring wait until their rescuers arrived, and there was no point in freezing while they waited.

Half an hour later, a sharp knock on the door tore them out of their peaceful mood.

Phryne raised an eyebrow. "This can't be Lily. It's far too early."

Jack nodded. "Still, whoever it is, it sounds urgent." 

He went to answer the door, but the man on the doorstep looked straight past his shoulder at Phryne.

"Ma'am?" His tone could only be described as funereal. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but last night you mentioned you're a lady detective…"

"Yes?" Phryne's smile was bright and professional. "How can I help you?"

"Well, you see, it's about old Mrs Granger." The man coughed briefly. "The lady who rented you this cabin."

"What about her?" Phryne sounded a tad impatient.

Jack knew the answer before the man opened his mouth. 

"Her son found her this morning, behind her house." Another small cough. "She's dead. We think she may have been murdered."

 _And here we go again…_ Jack had to revise his earlier observation. Life with Miss Fisher wasn't likely to be boring any time soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere apologies that this took so long - I'm just not very good with deadlines these days... But there's five more chapters and a proper murder mystery now :).

"So…" Jack glanced at Phryne as they made their way over to their recently deceased host's own house. It was quite a distance to walk – clearly, the residents of Two Rivers didn't believe in getting too close to their neighbours. "What was Mrs Granger like?" Phryne had been in charge of arranging their accommodation the night before, while he'd been out foraging for sandwiches.

Phryne made a face. "A very strict and proper lady. She wasn't too happy to let us have the cabin, especially once she learned we aren't married."

"Well, that's hardly surprising." Jack cleared his throat. Phryne's relaxed moral standards were bound to raise an eyebrow or two, especially in more conservative environments. As a matter of fact, he himself still occasionally felt the urge to make an honest woman out of her. "Most people would disapprove."

"They would." Phryne shrugged. "Still, in my experience, few care for more than outward appearances, and I did assure Mrs Granger that we would be staying in separate rooms." _A promise she'd clearly had no intention of keeping,_ Jack thought. "But that wasn't enough for her. It seems she was an extremely pious woman, or in other words, dour, joyless, and utterly convinced of her own righteousness." Phryne visibly shivered at the memory.

Jack felt the corner of his mouth twitch in response to her summary of the late Mrs Granger's character. He didn't doubt its accuracy. "Still, she did eventually rent you the cabin," he pointed out.

"Believe me, she really didn't want to." Phryne laughed, but it was a brief, humourless laugh. "But once I doubled the rate, greed won over. Or maybe… " she added with a tilt of her head toward Mrs Granger's home. "Maybe it was not so much greed, but necessity."

The house did look a bit shabby, Jack had to admit, though it was large and had clearly once been quite impressive. But now a few shutters were hanging loose and the paint was flaking in places. "Mrs Granger was a widow, right?" The absence of a man around the house would explain the lack of upkeep.

"Yes." Phryne nodded. "Her husband didn't come back from the War, she told me."

"Ah." Jack didn't say more. He would never cease to be amazed by how many lives had been touched by the horrors of the Great War, all over the globe, from far-away Melbourne to this cold, God-forsaken place in the middle of nowhere.

Mrs Granger's body was still where her neighbour, a rough-faced fellow called Jack Seward, had found it in the morning. _At least they didn't move her._ Jack was grateful. It wouldn't have been the first time he found all clues messed up by an overly zealous helper. Someone had covered the body with an old, discoloured blanket.

When Phryne took hold of the corner to lift it, Seward shook his head. "Don't, miss. That's no sight for a lady like you."

"She's almost certainly seen worse." Jack stepped closer, but when the blanket came off, he wondered whether he would have to revise his statement.

Still, to her credit, Phryne didn't even flinch. Then again, she had been a wartime nurse. It would take more than a corpse to upset her, even if this one looked particularly grisly. Mrs Granger was lying flat on her back, hands raised as if to hold off an attacker. And buried deep in the middle of her forehead was the blade of a woodcutter's axe, spattered with blood and lodged deep in the bone.

Phryne whistled softly through her teeth. "Well, with all due respect to proper police procedure, I'm inclined to believe in the theory that this was murder."

Jack shook his head. "Don't be too sure, Miss Fisher. I've seen a number of odd accidents involving axes." He knelt down next to the body, trying to see more. "And a suicide that looked exactly like this."

"Ouch!" Phryne grimaced. "Why would anyone- But let's focus on the situation at hand." Circling the body slowly, she whistled softly through her teeth. "She did try to hold the attacker off, but I wonder why she let him get so close in the first place. Someone walking toward her, axe in hand… Must have been someone she knew."

Jack nodded. "It seems that way." He turned toward Seward. "What about the police? Have they been informed?"

"We've sent a telegram to Fairbanks." The man shrugged. "They said they'll be along, but the river is too choppy, and the road is blocked after the storm last night. A lot of trees came down. Nothing a good axe won't cure, but it might be a few days."

"The road is blocked, you say." Jack glanced at Phryne. "What about planes?"

"Not in this weather." Seward indicated the dark storm clouds visible on the horizon. "Once this has blown over, maybe."

Phryne cursed under her breath, and Jack couldn't blame her. If the police couldn't make it, chances were that Lily wouldn't be able to keep her promise either. They were stuck out here. _Well, at least we won't be bored. Not with a murder on our hands._ Actually, Jack was surprised how philosophical he felt about the whole thing.

A second neighbour stepped up. "We ought to take her away from here. Or at least pull out the axe."

"Certainly not!" Jack cleared his throat. "Listen, I'm familiar with police work. Back home, I'm a detective inspector with the Melbourne police department." He pointed at the body. "We can't remove the axe, or we'll destroy vital evidence. And we can't really move the body either."

"It's summer," Seward pointed out. "She'll be starting to stink soon."

"I know it's unlikely, but…" Phryne favoured the man with her most charming smile, which was probably wasted on him. "If there was a way to take a picture-"

"A photograph, you mean." Seward nodded slowly. "Young Murphy might be your best bet. He fancies himself a journalist, and he has one of those new-fangled cameras. Wanted to go to Fairbanks to take pictures of the air show, but then his horse lost a shoe. He was furious."

Jack couldn't believe their luck. "Well, then let's ask him."

The young man was duly summoned and, although he turned slightly green around the gills at the sight, he took several pictures of the corpse and its surroundings. That having been accomplished, Jack gave permission for the body of Mrs Granger, axe still firmly attached, to be moved to the cooling house. Two men carried her off, and Jack turned to face Phryne again.

She'd been chatting amiably to three middle-aged ladies who had assembled, trying to sneak a look at what was no doubt the most exciting event of the year.

"Phryne?" He tried to catch her eye.

"Just a moment, Jack." She smiled at him. "I won't be long."

* * *

Phryne was relieved when Jack didn't insist on interrupting her. The town's matrons had turned out to be a veritable goldmine of information, much as she had suspected. She had already learned who was going to profit most from Mrs Granger's unfortunate demise.

"Well, the house will go to her son, Joe. That's his place, over there." Mrs Seward, a stout lady in her late forties, pointed to a small house about half a mile down the road. "Bet Priscilla's going to love her new home."

"His wife?" Phryne guessed.

"Yes." Mrs Seward nodded. "She's from Fairbanks. Fancies herself a bit of a lady. Lacy curtains and all that. Their house is a right mess, though."

"Well, no wonder, with seven kids." The lady next to her, who had introduced herself as Mrs Wilkinson, whose husband ran the general store, shook her head. "I bet it's all she can do to keep them fed and bathed."

"So, he's going to inherit the house." Phryne coughed delicately. "Well, lucky him."

"Of course it's going to be hard on poor Sarah." Mrs Seward sighed deeply. "What is the poor girl going to do now her mother's gone?"

"There's a daughter, too?" Phryne took care not to sound too eager. A little curiosity was natural, but she had to be careful not to overdo it. "Still living with her mother?"

Fortunately, Mrs Seward was very forthcoming. "Yes, poor thing. She must be pushing thirty by now, but her mother wouldn't let her get married. Never even let her go out with a boy, I think."

"Why ever not?" Phryne was still carefully feeling her way forward, but she felt it was a natural enough question.

"She got religious after the War." Mrs Seward sniffed disapprovingly. "Now, I'm as good a Christian as any, but she took it too far. About ten years ago, after her husband died, they all went to Juneau for a few months. To stay with her sister, she said. When they came back, she'd changed. Kept preaching at everyone and practically locked the poor girl up in her house." Mrs Seward had really warmed to the topic by now. "It's a shame, really. So many young lads looking for a wife and-"

"Now, Margaret, let's not speak ill of the dead." Mrs Wilkinson smacked her lips in reproof. "I'm sure Mrs Granger was glad to have her daughter's help around the house. Not all of us are called to marriage. And Sarah is such a dear, sweet girl."

"I take it the family have been informed?" Phryne shook her head in sympathy. "Such a tragedy. It must have been such a shock for them."

"Sarah took it badly." Mrs Seward sighed. "Poor thing. Didn't want to leave the house. Said she wanted to stay close to her happy memories of her mom."

"So she's all alone there now?" Phryne didn't have to feign compassion this time.

"I did offer her tea." Mrs Seward sounded almost offended. "But no, she wanted to be by herself. Say, would you like a cup of tea, miss, or coffee maybe? I've got freshly baked biscuits in the oven, and you look a bit peaky."

"I'd be delighted." Phryne couldn't believe her luck. Coffee and gossip. Things were beginning to look up.


	5. Chapter 5

"Jack!" Phryne came toward him with a bright smile. "Dear Mrs Seward here has been kind enough to invite us to her house for a late breakfast. Isn't that nice?"

"Very nice." He nodded at the lady, whose face was gleaming with good-natured curiosity. Still, the offer of food was not to be sneezed at. "I could do with a cup of coffee."

Mrs Seward took them to her home, a spacious farmhouse hidden behind a small spattering of wind-bent trees. The coffee was served in a warm and rambling kitchen, and accompanied by a large bowl of porridge, followed by bacon, eggs, and homemade biscuits. It wasn't gourmet food, but it was tasty and rich and filling, and Jack tucked in heartily. Phryne, too, he observed. Last night's dinner had been cold and spartan, and they both were in need of sustenance.

The Seward household consisted of Mr and Mrs Seward and their son, a ruggedly handsome young man in his twenties whom his mother referred to as 'our Bobby'. He was a quiet lad, and he disappeared outside after a quick, perfunctory greeting. His mother was more voluble, chatting away about 'poor Mrs Granger, surely she didn't deserve such a gruesome death', while she was fixing their meal. Jack restricted himself to the occasional nod or sigh, glad to leave the conversation to Phryne.

"It really is the most horrible thing to happen, isn't it?" Phryne clucked softly, her eyes wide open in innocent wonder. "Now, why would anyone wish to harm an old lady? Surely she didn't have any enemies."

"Well, I wouldn't say she had _enemies_." Mrs Seward was clearly enjoying herself immensely. "Still, there are a few tales I could tell, believe me."

"Really?" Phryne's concerned expression appeared perfectly genuine. "I can't imagine. But of course, you must have known her for years."

Jack leaned back with a satisfied sigh as Mrs Seward launched into the story of how she'd first met her neighbour. The kitchen was warm and cozy, and Phryne was in her element. It would be a pleasure to watch her in action.

It turned out Mrs Granger had indeed ruffled quite a few feathers with her religious zeal, and practically everyone among the residents of Two Rivers had been in one kind of spat or the other with her over the years. That included Mrs Seward herself, who hadn't quite forgiven Mrs Granger for rejecting young Bobby as a suitor for her daughter, almost five years ago. Of course, she pretended to be perfectly amiable about it, but Jack knew a grudge when he saw one.

Mr Wilkinson, the grocer, had been involved in a long-standing battle with her, ever since she'd criticized the quality of the flour sold in the general store. There had been talk of slander, and the Wilkinsons had even been to Fairbanks, to see a lawyer. "He told them it would be difficult to prove, though, so they let it go. Mrs Wilkinson is such a good soul."

Then there was young Murphy, the lad with the camera. Mrs Granger had accused him of sneaking around her house at night, trying to take pictures of her and her daughter. Where 'sneaking around her house' apparently translated to 'coming within a hundred yards' distance'. Jack shook his head in wonder.

The schoolteacher, Mrs McGinty, had committed the unforgiveable sin of asking Sarah to join her as a substitute teacher – a suggestion Mrs Granger had struck down immediately and in no uncertain terms. Mrs McGinty, quite the character herself, had called the whole thing a 'crying shame' and compared poor Sarah's fate to indentured servitude. Which in turn had lead to Mrs Granger denouncing her teaching as sub-standard and 'only fit for savages'.

The list went on and on, with squabbles about purchases, the odd religious dispute, and family quarrels going back ten or twenty years. Fortunately, Phryne seemed to have no trouble following the conversation.  Whenever the well threatened to dry up, she managed to elicit yet another story from their hostess with a well-placed platitude or two or just a curious look. By the time Mrs Seward paused for breath, Jack's head was spinning, and he was glad when Phryne rose to leave.

"We mustn't keep you any longer, Mrs Seward. I'm sure you have a lot on your plate today." Phryne's smile was wide and innocuous. "Thank you so much for the delicious meal."

"It's been my pleasure, miss. But what are you going to do about dinner? You're staying another night, aren't you?" Clearly, Mrs Seward was quite adept at obtaining information herself.

"I'm afraid we'll have to." Phryne did sound regretful, but Jack didn't believe her for a minute. She was enjoying herself far too much.

"Tell you what." Mrs Seward was clearly taken with her guests. "I'll send our Bobby over later today with some provisions. My husband went hunting last night and took down a moose. We have plenty to share, and I'm sure it will make for a lovely dinner for the two of you."

"Oh." Phryne's smile wavered for a moment. "That's very kind of you." As soon as they were out of hearing, she turned to face Jack, her expression one of complete horror. "A moose! You don't expect me to… to cook it for you, do you?"

"Don't worry." He raised a sardonic eyebrow. "I think I can handle a steak. And at least we won't starve."

"Probably not." Phryne shuddered. "Let's head back to Mrs Granger's house. I need to talk to Sarah."

Jack nodded. "I think you might do better on your own. I think I'm going to have a chat with her son in the meantime. We can meet at the store afterwards."

"Good idea." Phryne beamed at him. "Well, then. Let's get moving."

* * *

Sarah Granger was a very pretty young woman, Phryne mused, as she listened with her best sympathetic expression. Or at least she would have been, if she hadn't been so terribly mousy.

Everything about Sarah was subdued: her smile, her voice, the look in her eyes. Her luscious blonde hair had been forced into a strict bun, and her grey cotton dress, complete with a starched apron, was demure enough to satisfy even the strictest modesty standards. But she had lovely blue eyes, even though they were red from crying.

"I still can't believe Mother is gone." Sarah sobbed under her breath. "What am I going to do?"

"You will be fine." Phryne did her best to sound encouraging without seeming heartless. "There are so many people here who want to help you. You're not alone."

Sarah didn't reply, just sobbed again, and Phryne took advantage of the lull in their conversation to look around the room. It was an unremarkable sitting room, the sparse furniture made slightly more comfortable by the liberal addition of pillows and blankets in muted blue and grey tones. The overall effect was not unpleasant, if a little cold. The walls were covered in simple picture frames, and Phryne got to her feet to look a little closer at one of the pictures.

It was a pencil drawing of the house, well executed and oddly charming. The artist seemed to be talented, if unschooled. "Did you draw this?" She turned back to face Sarah.

"Yes. They're all mine." There was the barest hint of pride in Sarah's voice. "It helps pass the time."

"They are lovely." Phryne hesitated, unsure of what to say next.

She hadn't really been able to learn much from Sarah. The young woman had still been asleep, when Mr Seward had knocked on the back door to tell her about her mother's death, and she hadn't had anything useful to add to what they already knew. No, she hadn't heard or seen anything last night. She'd gone to bed early, and it wasn't unusual for her mother to stay up a little longer, so she hadn't waited up. No, she had no idea who could have done it.

Phryne suppressed a sigh. Of course the poor girl had no idea. From what she'd been able to gather, Sarah had hardly left the house in the past ten years. All she knew about the world was what her mother had told her. _Really, it should be a crime to keep someone as ignorant as this._ There was nothing useful to be gained by discussing the case with Sarah. Now, her mother had been a different story. A search of her room might turn out helpful…

"Are you sure you want to stay here?" Phryne felt mildly guilty for a moment, but then she firmly told herself that it would be in the girl's best interest to get her out of the house. "I really think you ought to take up Mrs Seward's offer. A cup of tea and some friendly company is just what you need now."

"You think?" Sarah seemed undecided. "Yes. Maybe. But what if…" She trailed off. Clearly, she wasn't used to making decisions on her own.

"I absolutely think so." Phryne put as much authority into her voice as she dared. "And I'm sure your mother would have said the same. Actually, I think it would be best if you stayed the night. Mrs Seward will take good care of you."

Mrs Seward greeted them with a warm, motherly smile and a hug for Sarah. Her mission accomplished, Phryne headed for Wilkinson’s Country Store to meet up with Jack.

The two-storeyed building at the heart of Two Rivers was painted white and fronted by a wooden porch. A little bell jingled happily when Phryne pushed the door open. Mrs Wilkinson was busy at the counter, selling a large bag of sugar to an old farmer. She flashed a quick smile at Phryne, who glanced around the room, looking for Jack. He was already there, waiting for her in the far corner of the store, next to the telegraph desk.

"Jack! I see you've met Maisie." Phryne smiled widely at the fourteen-year-old girl behind the desk. The Wilkinsons' only daughter had been very helpful the night before. She was a bright and plucky girl, and Phryne had taken an immediate liking to her. "Any news?"

"There's a telegram from Lily." Jack nodded at Maisie who handed the slip of paper to Phryne. "She can't get through to us, much as we'd guessed. We may be here another two or three days."

"Well, that can't be helped." Phryne sighed. "We're going to miss our train back to Juneau, but since we're not in a hurry…"

"I wish I could go with you to Juneau. It must be so exciting." Maisie sounded wistful. "Nothing ever happens around here."

"Well, you've just had a murder," Jack pointed out. "Seems like quite enough excitement for a day."

"You know what I mean." Maisie rolled her eyes at him. "It's always the same around here. The same people, the same weather." She made a face. "It must be so much nicer down south."

"Well, the weather is definitely more agreeable." Phryne shivered. "As for the people, I don't know. They are much the same everywhere, in my experience."

"But I want to see the world!" Maisie shook her head impatiently. " _You_ 've been all around the globe, haven't you, Miss Fisher?"

"Well, not _all_ around it." Phryne winked at her. "But yes, I've seen my fair share. And so will you, if that's what you really want."

"Phryne." Jack gave her a meaningful look. If the girls' parents found out that Phryne was encouraging her fanciful dreams, they might be less than happy. "It's time to go back to our cabin, I think."

"Is it that late?" Phryne glanced at the large wall clock. "Almost seven! Where did the time go?" Securing the crime scene and listening to Mrs Seward's remembrances had taken up more time than she'd expected. Just then, her stomach gave an audible grumble. "All right. Let's head back. I'm hungry."

"I've done some shopping." Jack pointed to the large basket behind him. "And Mrs Seward's son has been around with the meat. Looks like we're all set for dinner."

"Well, let's hope so." Phryne wasn't quite so optimistic, but she didn't want to seem defeatist. "Good night, Maisie. See you tomorrow."

"Sure, miss. Have a good night." Maisie's eyes wandered from her to Jack and back, and her smile was entirely too innocent. "You, too, sir."

"Good night, Maisie." Jack's tone was dry. "Sweet dreams."

 


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't dark outside by the time they returned to the cabin, but then it wasn't going to be dark until shortly before midnight, so there was not much point in waiting for dusk. The fire in the hearth had long since gone out, of course, and it was a bit chilly. Phryne huddled up in a moth-eaten armchair with a blanket, while Jack got to work on the fireplace.

There was a wood stove, too, in the tiny kitchen at the back of the cabin. They'd used it to boil water for their coffee, and Jack had seen a frying pan in the cupboard next to it. Once he'd got both fires going, he could make a start on fixing them dinner.

"So…" Phryne clearly didn't see a need to be involved in the practical side of things. "How did your chat with Joe go?"

Jack carefully picked three middle-sized logs and arranged them in the fireplace. "Interesting. He wasn't heartbroken about Mrs Granger's death, that much is sure. Seems he and his mother weren't close."

"Why's that, do you think?" Phryne stretched like a cat, examining her nails with a worried frown. "Was he not pious enough for her taste?"

"I don't think that was the problem." Methodically, Jack tore off several strips of paper from the front page of an ancient magazine, crumpling them up for kindling. "From what I could gather, he and his wife are just as religious as old Mrs Granger. Practically the first thing he told me was how abundantly the Lord had blessed him with children." _Not that it had been possible to miss that fact_. "His wife is expecting number seven, I believe."

"Goodness gracious!" Phryne shuddered all over. "Seven children in such a small house. And… he's set to inherit his mother's house, isn't he?"

Jack nodded, concentrating on setting fire to the paper. "The house and everything else. His sister will only get a pittance."

"Well, that clearly makes him the main suspect." Phryne rolled her eyes. "Lord knows, I would kill for a little more breathing space if I was in his shoes."

"Phryne!" The flames were licking along the logs now, and Jack breathed a sigh of relief. _One to go._

"Well, people have committed murder for less." She shrugged gracefully.

"True." Jack leaned back for a moment, admiring his handiwork. "And then, of course, there's the fact that the axe was his."

"What?" Phryne's reaction was everything he could have hoped for. "Really?"

"Really," he confirmed.  "He claims he left it there a week ago, after he'd chopped some firewood for his mother."

"But…" Phryne frowned. "If he's our murderer, why would he admit that it's his?"

Jack shrugged. "It's a small town. Somebody else might have recognised the axe, and told us who it belonged to. Maybe he was just playing it safe."

But Phryne clearly wasn't convinced. "But this is too easy." Angrily, she shook her head. " _Everything'_ s pointing to him. It's never that simple. There must be something we're missing."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, Miss Fisher…" Getting to his feet, Jack brushed the ash off his trousers. "But sometimes it really is that easy. Most of the time, actually. If it looks like a straightforward case, chances are that's because it is." He stretched, wincing at the ache in his back. "Join me in the kitchen?"

"If you insist." Grimacing, Phryne dug herself out of her nest of blankets and followed him, leaning in the doorway as he busied himself with the stove.

"There are plenty of other people who hated Mrs Granger," Phryne pointed out. "You heard Mrs Seward."

"I did." Once again, Jack reached for the wood basket. "Still, fascinating as her stories were, I doubt any of them would provide an actual motive for murder, don't you think? After all, when all's said and done, it usually boils down to love or money. People don't kill each other over nasty gossip or decades-old family spats."

"Well, who knows?" Phryne shrugged. "Maybe in this case, the whole community banded together to get rid of a particularly unpleasant member."

"Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit?" Jack closed the oven door and reached for the frying pan. "Mrs Granger seems to have been a bit annoying, true, but-"

"She was a horrible woman, Jack." There was no trace of flippancy in Phryne's tone now. "What she did to her daughter, locking her away like that, without a chance to live a normal life… That was cruel. Cruel and inhuman."

Jack sighed. "Sarah could have left," he pointed out. "She's of age and-"

"She's stunted, Jack!" Phryne's voice quivered, as if she wanted to cry. "The poor thing can barely think by herself, let alone handle the world outside on her own. Her mother made sure of that."

"Well, even if Mrs Granger was a horrible woman, I doubt she deserved an axe to the head." Jack did his best to sound soothing. It wasn't like Phryne to get so agitated. Maybe some food would calm her down. "Could you pass me the meat, please?"

Gingerly, Phryne unwrapped the parcel Bobby Seward had delivered earlier today. Two large, bloody slabs of red meat, plus some butter and a little bag of salt and assorted spices. Mrs Seward seemed to have thought of everything. And surely, grilling a steak was straightforward enough? Jack got to work, while Phryne found some plates and cutlery for them and set the table in the main room.

At first, things went well. The steaks sizzled in a thoroughly satisfying manner when he slid them into the pan, and the aroma of frying meat went straight to his stomach. Mrs Seward had packed some leftover biscuits from breakfast, too, and he'd bought a tin of beans at the store. Jack was beginning to look forward to dinner. "How do you want yours?" He glanced at Phryne. "Medium?"

"Medium rare. But, Jack?" Phryne craned her head to catch a glimpse of the pan over his shoulder. "Is it supposed to smell like that?"

He cursed under his breath. The aroma _was_ getting a bit charcoal-ey, and the butter had begun to smoke. Quickly, he reached for a fork and tried to turn the steak around, but it stuck to the ancient tin pan, and he had to pull hard to get it loose. He flipped it over, but the smell only got stronger, and within a few minutes, he had to admit defeat.

He'd envisioned two golden brown, juicy steaks, tender and well-seasoned. The charred remains he finally placed on their plates were black on the outside and almost raw on the inside, and most of the spices seemed to have been burned off. Phryne accepted her plate without a word. _Well, she said she liked her steak rare..._ Jack kept glancing at her, while they ate in silence. The beans were cold, and the biscuits dry, and the meat alternated between tough as old boots and unpleasantly squishy. He desperately wished for a bottle of beer to wash it down.

"Now that…" Phryne pushed her half-emptied plate back with a grimace. "That was quite possibly the most terrible meal I've had since the war ended."

"Me, too." He pushed his chair back with a rueful look at her. "I'm sorry, Phryne. I feel like such an idiot."

With a shrug, Phryne got up, quickly disposing of the remaining food before returning to his side. "Look on the bright side." Leaning over his shoulder, she breathed a quick kiss on his cheek. "At least we're not hungry anymore."

"True." He felt a wry smile tugging at his lips. "And you know, maybe if you'd helped me-"

"Who? Me?" Predictably, Phryne's face showed nothing but sincere horror at the thought. "We both know that would only have made things worse."

It was hard to argue with that, but even so, Jack had trouble keeping a straight face. Luckily, Phryne didn't seem to be in the mood for further discussions of their meal.

"So…" she purred, settling on his lap and placing an arm around his shoulder. "Since you said you were sorry… How do you propose to make it up to me?"

"I don't know." His heart beat faster. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Plenty." Another kiss, on his lips this time, and, God, she felt so good. "Bed?"

"Definitely." Pushing her off his knees, he let her lead the way. _I think I know just what you need._

* * *

Phryne's skin was tingling all over with anticipation. Jack's expression had been so intent just now, so focussed. _A man with a plan_. And she was pretty sure she could guess what he had in mind.

Their clothes came off at amazing speed, and then he was kissing her, hard and deep, no holds barred. And his hands were wandering up her thighs, parting them with a sure touch, no hesitation, no playing around tonight. For a moment, she marvelled at how confident he'd become lately, how sure of his ability to please her. When they'd first made love, he'd been… not insecure, but he'd always seemed a bit daunted by what he'd once termed the 'parade' of her former lovers. No more. Jack Robinson was clearly no longer worried about how he measured up to all the others. And he had no reason to.

Phryne moaned in undisguised delight as he settled between her thighs and softly blew against her hot flesh, teasing her with the promise of what was to come. And God, she couldn't wait to have his mouth on her. Already, she was slick with desire, trembling all over, and he hadn't even started yet. When he lowered his head and licked a long, firm stripe through her folds, Phryne didn't bother to hold back her cry of pleasure.

She felt him smile against her skin, and then he did it again, with less pressure this time, just a slow, lazy exploration of her, patient and relaxed, as if he was in no hurry at all. And maybe _he_ wasn't, but she wasn't sure how long she could take this. The next time she felt his tongue start its journey, soft and insistent, Phryne bucked up hard, whining with impatience.

"Shhh." His hands settled on her hips, holding her down. "Relax. There's no rush."

"Not for you, maybe," she muttered under her breath, but he ignored her.

Well, not quite, because he was picking up speed now, at least a bit, and it felt so good she thought she'd die. Threading her fingers through his hair, she pulled him closer. "Jack. Please don't stop."

The vibration of his chuckle nearly sent her flying off the sheets. "No worries."

And now he was pushing a long, dexterous finger inside her, stroking her in all the right places, and she tightened around him, gripping him with her inner muscles, moaning unrestrainedly.

He responded with a groan, and she was thrilled to realise he was almost as worked up as she was, his hips moving involuntarily as he rubbed himself against the sheets. And now he doubled down again, curling his finger, his tongue dancing across her flesh, so good, so intense, and she just couldn't take it any longer, she couldn't-

Phryne screamed as she came, her nails digging deep into his bare shoulders, her whole body growing taut, then going limp, as the pleasure washed over her, flooding every inch of her body with sweet relief. "Jack." All she could do was whisper his name, over and over. "Jack. Yes."

When she opened her eyes, he was kneeling between her legs, hard and eager, and trembling with urgency. "Phryne. Can we-"

 _Damn_! She'd forgotten. She'd removed and cleaned her device this morning, intending to put it back in before dinner, but their discussion of the case had distracted her, and now, he was clearly past the point where she could keep him waiting. "I'm sorry." She bit her lip in annoyance, but there was nothing to be done. "We can't. Not now."

Still, that didn't mean he had to suffer. Sitting up, she placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back until he lay down. "But I _can_ pay you back in kind."

"Oh yes." Jack's eyes fluttered shut, and she smiled at the sight of him, all laid out for her pleasure.

He really had a gorgeous body. Long, lean muscles, a flat stomach, wide shoulders. And a very nicely proportioned cock, too, Phryne thought as she took him between her lips, soft and careful at first. He moaned at this, but he kept still as she licked him, swirling her tongue around him, tasting the saltiness of his skin. And yet, it was easy to see how much this affected him, from the way his hands clenched into fists, bunching up the sheets in their iron grip, to the deep lines furrowing his forehead as he tried to hold back, and the taut line of his stomach, tight with expectation.

It was so much fun to watch his reactions to everything she did, the frisson that raced all over his body when she took him deep, the flush spreading over his chest when she sucked harder. So much fun and so very hot. She loved that she could do this to him, that she could reduce him to a shivering, begging mess, with nothing but her lips and tongue. And he _was_ begging now, a litany of whispered words, begging her not to stop, pleading for just a tiny bit more, harder, deeper.

He came with a full-body shudder and a long, helpless whine, pouring himself down her throat with complete abandon. And afterwards, he couldn't stop kissing her, as if he wanted to chase every last drop of his taste on her tongue. "Gods, Phryne." He was panting hard. "That should be illegal."

"Oh, it is, in several states," she quipped. "Not sure about Alaska, though."

"I don't care." Jack seemed torn between laughing and tears. "I love you so much."

"And I love you." With a satisfied sigh, she snuggled up against his warmth. What a day it had been! Murder and mayhem and adventure.

_And tomorrow, we will solve this case._


	7. Chapter 7

One of the things Phryne loved best about Jack was his expressive face: the tense line of his jaw, when he was all focussed on a case; the frown on his forehead, when she'd given him reason to worry about her; and of course, the sudden, sweet smile that few people ever got to see. And even rarer, his face as it was now, relaxed and open, while he was asleep in her arms.

It had taken some getting used to, this whole business of having someone in her bed every night, waking up to see him first thing in the morning, before she had the time to put her customary masks into place. Another protective layer gone, another vulnerable spot exposed. But this was Jack, and he would never hurt her. There was no one in the world she trusted more.

He shifted a little in his sleep, frowning, as if he could sense her intense scrutiny, and Phryne held her breath, but he didn't open his eyes. She must have worn him out last night. And really, it seemed such a pity to wake him. But a quick glance at the clock told her it was time to put her little plan into action.

"Jack?" Tentatively, she nudged his shoulder, and his eyes flew wide open instantaneously. A soldier's habit, going from sleeping to waking within a heartbeat, and she had a fair idea when he had acquired it.

"Phryne? What is it?" He kept his voice carefully down. "It's not morning yet, is it?"

It was a legitimate question, considering the amount of light pouring in through the small window. Silently, Phryne cursed the sun for being up at such an unreasonable hour, thus making their task that much harder.

"No, it isn't." She breathed a kiss on his temple, unable to resist the temptation. "It's half past two."

"Then why…" His expression turned suspicious. "Why are you awake?"

Tearing herself away from him with considerable effort, she reached for her clothes. "I was thinking I'd take a look at Mrs Granger's house. I'm sure there's something fishy going on."

"Now? Phryne, you're crazy." Jack was wide awake now, placing a hand on her wrist to stop her from moving. He didn't actually grab her – he knew better than that. "That's a job for the police. As soon as they take over, they can search the whole place."

"Yes, but when will that be?" She rolled her eyes at him. "It'll be another two days before they show up, and then some more until they can obtain a warrant. If our murderer has something to hide, he'll have plenty of opportunity to tamper with the evidence. Plus, who knows what kind of bumbling idiot the Fairbanks police are going to send out here to deal with an old woman's death?"

"You don't know that." Jack's voice had that reasonable tone she always found so annoying. "Look, Phryne, this isn't Melbourne. I can't protect you if things go wrong."

"I'm not asking you to." Again, she reached for her clothes. "You don't even have to come along if you don't want to."

"You think I'm going to let you go out there by yourself? With a violent axe murderer on the loose?" He threw her a dark look, but he had let go of her hand. "I'm coming with you."

"If you insist." She smiled to herself, while they got dressed. "But for the record, I don't think it's dangerous. No one will expect us to be there. Sarah is staying with the Sewards, and as for everybody else… I bet the whole town is fast asleep at this hour."

As she had predicted, not a single soul was to be seen as they quietly made their way over to the old, rambling house. Phryne had considered various means of breaking in, but in the end, she needn't have worried – the back door opened with a faint creak as soon as she put her hand on the doorknob. No one had bothered to lock it after the murder.

"What now?" Jack was right behind her, and he sounded thoroughly unhappy. She could practically feel the worry emanating from him.

"I'm going to search Mrs Granger's room," she whispered. "You pick one of the others."

He nodded tersely and headed off toward the front of the house. Phryne picked a door at random and found herself in what had to be Sarah's room – a narrow bed, covered with a worn quilt, a small writing desk in the corner, a chest of drawers. No mirror, no vanity, no carpet, hardly any books. Phryne felt yet another flash of pity for the young woman. Such a limited life, locked up in this little cell, with nothing to look forward to. _Like a nun_.

But she had to focus on her investigation. On her second attempt, she found Mrs Granger's room. It wasn't any more inviting than her daughter's, furnished with the same almost ascetic sparseness. The bed was bigger, though, and there were a number of boxes carefully stowed away on shelves. With a sigh, Phryne began to go through them.

Half an hour later, she was ready to admit defeat. She hadn't found anything even remotely interesting. A few knitting patterns, lots of devotional literature, and a bundle of innocuous letters from a Miss Bates. A hasty perusal identified her as Mrs Granger's unmarried sister, the one living in Juneau. On impulse, Phryne leafed through the big bible that had pride of place on Mrs Granger's nightstand, but it yielded nothing at all, not even a dedication, or a family tree at the back. With a sigh, she put the heavy, leather-bound volume back and glanced around the room. She had been so sure there would be something. Now where would-

"Phryne. Look at this." Jack had appeared in the doorway, looking pale and serious. He handed her a large manila folder.

It was filled with pencil drawings, and Phryne immediately recognized the style. "Those must be Sarah's. Where did you find them?"

"In her room. There was nothing of interest in the living room, so I thought I'd take a look." Jack pointed to the folder. "They were in her bed, hidden under her mattress."

"But why would she hide them? That doesn't make sense. Her other pictures are displayed all over the place." Phryne shook her head.

"Take a look." Jack sounded grim. "Start from the bottom."

"From the bottom? But… Oh." Phryne bit her lip in surprise. The first picture, dated '1919' in small, spidery letters on the back, was a lovingly detailed drawing of a tiny baby, swaddled in a blanket and with the scrunched-up, unfinished features of a newborn. There was no name on the picture, nor any other kind of indication who the child could be. The next picture showed yet another baby, older this time, drooling all over a small plush toy. Phryne made a face.

"There's more." Jack had stepped closer and was looking over her shoulder at the pictures, motioning for her to continue.

One by one, Phryne went through the pictures. There was one for every year, showing what seemed to be the same child, a boy, growing up and graduating from swaddling clothes to shorts and a jaunty little cap. The pictures were amazingly vivid, depicting the child in various age-appropriate scenarios, playing with a hoop or riding a bike. But as she went through the pages, Phryne noticed something else. "His face…" She glanced up at Jack, who nodded.

The boy's clothes and toys were rendered in loving detail in all the drawings, but his features became more indistinct with each passing year, as if Sarah had been unsure of how exactly to draw him. And in the final picture, the one dated from the current year, his face was completely blank.

Phryne looked up to find Jack intently watching her. "Well. That is interesting."

"To say the least." He took a deep breath. "Let's put those back and head home. We need time to think."

She nodded. "Yes. And I need a drink."

* * *

Jack's head was spinning with the implications of their discovery, but that was no excuse for his lack of attention, or so he told himself later. He should have seen the man earlier. He should have noticed the reflection of light on the gun's muzzle. But he didn't, and it was only by a sheer stroke of luck that the bullet missed Phryne's head.

They'd only just left the house and were crossing the small stretch of open land behind it, when the shot rang out. Phryne was a few steps ahead of Jack, and just at that moment, she stumbled over a bramble and went down. The bullet whizzed past, and Jack's heart nearly stopped. "Run!"

The exhortation wasn't necessary, of course. Already, Phryne was back on her feet and moments later, they'd both reached the relative safety of the forest. Jack didn't dare stop for breath, but he threw one look back over his shoulder. Their attacker had stepped from his cover on the other side of the clearing. Redoubling his efforts, Jack caught up with Phryne moments later. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "Let's get back to the cabin."

They reached their quarters without further incidents. As soon as the door fell shut behind them, Phryne turned to face him. "Did you get a good look at our shooter?"

He nodded. "Joe Granger, if I'm not very much mistaken. Seems he was guarding his mother's place."

"Savages! Why can't they lock their doors like civilized people?" Phryne cursed in a most unladylike fashion. "Do you think he recognized us?"

"I doubt it." Jack shook his head. "I had the sun at my back, and we were moving fast. But we can't be sure, of course."

"Well, if anyone asks, we'll just have to deny everything." Phryne shivered all over. "Come on. Let's get back to bed. I'm freezing."

They curled up together on the narrow cot, and Jack found himself clinging tightly to Phryne's body, as tightly as she would allow. Somehow, he managed to refrain from pointing out that he'd warned her of the danger, but if he was honest, he was angry. Angry and shaken. The mere thought of what could have happened was like a punch to his gut.

"Jack?" Her voice was quiet, almost subdued. "I'm sorry."

He didn't reply. It was hard to trust his voice.

"I really am." Turning to face him, she traced the outline of his face with her fingertips. "I didn't expect anything of that kind. You were right to worry, and I was stupid."

He nodded tersely. "Yes. You were."

Phryne pouted. "You're supposed to contradict me, you know."

"Phryne…" She must have heard the tremble in his voice, because she didn't say more, just pulled him close.

They managed to snatch another two or three hours of sleep before their grumbling stomachs woke them. Fortunately, Mrs Seward had extended yet another invitation for breakfast, so they got dressed quickly and headed over to her place.

On their way, they passed the general store, and in front of it, there was a small commotion. A petite woman was trying unsuccessfully to tame a tangle of little boys, who were tussling like bear cubs on the dusty ground, screaming blue murder at each other. She was heavily pregnant, and a little girl was clinging to her shirt, howling along with her brothers.

"Joe Granger's wife," Jack muttered under his breath, when Phryne threw him a questioning glance. "Poor woman."

Two quick steps took him to her side. Gripping two boys with each hand, he dragged them out of the scuffle, shaking them slightly. "Enough!"

The boys ducked at the sound of his voice, falling quiet immediately.

"Thank you." Priscilla Granger gave him a nervous smile. "They're so much better behaved when there's a man around."

There was a small bruise on her temple, Jack noticed, and she had unsuccessfully tried to hide it by arranging a lock of hair over it.

"My pleasure." He touched his hat to take his leave, but Phryne was already at his side, and clearly, she had spotted the bruise as well.

"Mrs Granger." She extended a gloved hand. "I'm Phryne Fisher. Is there… Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Priscilla Granger just stared at her for a moment, then she shook her head with a small, sad smile. "No, miss. Unless you want to babysit my kids for a while."

Phryne cleared her throat. "That's not what I meant. You're hurt." She pointed at the bruise.

"Oh, that?" Priscilla's expression hardened. "Yes, I hit my head on the doorframe. Silly me." Without another word, she turned away.

Phryne opened her mouth to say more, but Jack silenced her with a look. "Good bye, Mrs Granger," he said aloud. "Have a nice day."

They walked on, but Phryne was clearly agitated. "You saw it, too, Jack, don't deny it. You know where that kind of bruise comes from."

"I do." He exhaled sharply. "Joe Granger clearly has a tendency to be violent."

Phryne nodded. "First he shoots at us, and now this. And who knows what else he's capable of."

Mrs Seward greeted them with a wide smile and a stack of pancakes. When she inquired how they'd liked the moose, Jack managed to make the appropriate appreciative noises, and soon they were seated at the table, enjoying a rich and filling meal.

"Look, Jack." Phryne gently elbowed him in the side.

Through the window, they could see young Bobby lifting sacks of grain unto a wagon with the help of Sarah Granger, who had donned big boots and a coarse apron to help him. The two of them were laughing and smiling as they moved the heavy sacks.

"She's a lot stronger than she looks," Phryne muttered under her breath.

Mrs Seward followed her gaze, smiling warmly. "Poor Sarah. I hope she'll get over it eventually. She is such a good girl. A hard worker, too."

"I'm sure she is." Phryne smiled brightly at their host, but when Mrs Seward left the room, she turned serious. "Have you noticed how it’s always poor Sarah?" She sighed. "Everyone pities her. She must hate that.”

Their next stop was the general store where Maisie was sitting at her telegraph desk, looking bored. "No news about your prop, miss. You really should carry a spare next time. Most of the pilots do."

Jack raised a surprised eyebrow. "You seem to know a lot about planes."

Maisie shrugged. "Yours is not the first plane to crash here. Used to happen all the time, back when they started flying."

"Did it?" Suddenly, Phryne seemed very interested. "You'll have to tell me more."

"Sure." Maisie hesitated briefly, but then she looked earnestly at Phryne. "Miss, is it true what people say? About who killed Mrs Granger?"

"I don't know, Maisie." Phryne's smile was non-committal. "What do they say?"

"That… That it was Bobby Seward who killed her, for her stash of money." Maisie swallowed. "And that he told his dad, and that's how Mr Seward knew to look for her in the morning. Why else would he have gone over so early? That's what they say."

"Do they?" Phryne's expression had grown serious. "What's this about a stash of money? Was Mrs Granger secretly a rich woman?"

"Well, her father was rich. He was a miner, and he got lucky. And Mrs Seward always used to say she was sure the old bat had some money hidden away in her house." Maisie looked so unhappy it tore at Jack's heartstrings. "But, miss, do you really think Bobby could have done it?"

"What do _you_ think, Maisie?" Jack marvelled at the gentleness of Phryne's tone. "You know Bobby. Do you think he did it?"

"I… No, miss." Maisie raised her chin, suddenly determined. "I've known Bobby Seward all my life, and he wouldn't harm a soul. Not for money. To defend himself, maybe, but not… He wouldn't."

"Well, there you have your answer." Phryne smiled at the girl. "And for the record, I don't think he did it either. But we'll have to prove who did. And you can help me with that."

"Of course, miss." The girl's face was shining with excitement now. "What do I need to do?"

"I just need you to send a telegram." Phryne laughed softly at her disappointed expression. "But no one must know about it. Promise?"

"I never talk about what's in the telegrams," Maisie protested. "So yeah, promise. Who do you want to send it to?"

"Mr James Morrison, in Juneau. Here's his address." Phryne handed over a slip of paper with the name and address of a friend they'd stayed with in Juneau. Morrison was a journalist at the local newspaper, Jack recalled. "We need to ask him to check birth registers in Juneau in 1919. Under the name Sarah Granger."

" _What_?" Maisie's eyes went wide. "But why-"

"Shhhh." Phryne quickly glanced around. "I told you, you need to keep quiet about it."

"I will," the girl promised. "But… Would she have used her real name?"

"Good point." Phryne considered for a moment. "Ask him to look for Sarah Bates, too. Her mother's maiden name," she added by way of explanation.

Maisie nodded. "Anything else, miss?"

"Not right now. And remember, not a single word to anyone." Phryne gave her a strict glare.

"Cross my heart, miss." Maisie's fingers flew across the telegraph's keyboard. "There. Done. And now?"

"Now we wait." Phryne flashed a smile at the girl. "And in the mean time, you can tell me about those plane crashes."


	8. Chapter 8

They spent the day talking to various other members of the community. Young Mr Murphy was eager enough to help, but he'd only moved to Alaska two years ago and had little insight to offer. They did pass a fascinating hour in Mrs McGinty's parlour, learning about the town's history and the perils and rewards of a teacher's life on the frontier of civilization. Still, at the end of the afternoon, Phryne was feeling increasingly frustrated with their efforts.

In view of what she'd secretly termed the 'Moose mishap', they decided to forgo a warm meal and stocked up on bread and cheese instead. They had just settled down in their cabin for an early dinner of sandwiches and biscuits, when an energetic knock on the door interrupted them. Phryne opened it to find Maisie, her face gleaming with excitement, her chest heaving from the effort of running.

"There's a telegram for you, miss. From Juneau." Maisie handed them the slip of paper.

Phryne quickly scanned the message. "Sarah Bates… gave birth to a boy… 5th of April 1919, at the hospital of the Order of St. Ann." There was more, but already, her suspicions were confirmed. Raising her head, Phryne smiled at the girl. "Thank you so much, Maisie. You've been a big help."

"My pleasure, miss." The girl beamed at her. "Have you solved the case now?"

"I think we may have, yes." Phryne caught Jack's gaze. He nodded almost imperceptibly. "I'll let you know tomorrow."

If Maisie was disappointed, she hid it well. "Right. I'll be off then. See you tomorrow, miss. No news about your prop, by the way."

"Well, I guess that can't be helped." Resolutely, Phryne reached for the doorknob. "Good night, Maisie."

As soon as the door had fallen shut, Phryne turned to face Jack. "Well, I guess it's time for a chat with Miss Granger."

Sarah had returned to her mother's house, and considering the way things had developed, Phryne was glad about it. She didn't fancy having Mrs Seward there for what promised to be an unpleasant confrontation.

Sarah greeted them politely and offered them tea, which Phryne gracefully accepted. _Though something stronger is probably called for._

"Miss Granger…" Jack took the lead. "Regarding your mother's passing, a few interesting facts have come to our attention, and we'd hoped you could clean them up." Everything about his tone and demeanour screamed 'policeman', Phryne thought, and it had the desired effect on Sarah. Not for a moment did she question their authority, though she'd have had every right to do so.

"Yes?" Sarah swallowed nervously. "How can I help you?"

"You could tell us what happened ten years ago." Phryne took care not to sound threatening. "We already know about the baby."

"Oh." Sarah was quiet for a long time, but when she raised her head, her expression was calm and determined. "I guess I'd better tell you the whole story. That summer-"

"That would be the summer of 1918?" Phryne clarified, and Sarah nodded.

"Yes. I had just turned seventeen, and my brother had recently gotten married. Father…" She swallowed again. "Father was gone, and Mother was beside herself with grief. Then a plane crashed, about a mile downriver."

Jack was still all business, taking notes in a little black book he'd brought with him. "Was anyone hurt?"

Sarah shook her head. "The pilot managed to get out of it without serious injuries. He arrived here on foot, much like you did."

"And just like us, he probably stayed for a little while, until his plane could be repaired?" Phryne gently nudged her on.

"Yes. About two weeks." Sarah was smiling now. "He stayed in the cabin, too, and I went there every day, to bring him food. His name was Ben, and he was very handsome." She blushed slightly. "I named our son after him."

"Did he know?" Phryne could imagine the whole thing only too well: a dashing young man, full of stories about his exciting adventures; a shy, sweet young girl, immediately smitten… the whole thing was only too predictable.

"No." Sarah sounded offended. "He wouldn't have- He was a good man, kind and gentle. But by the time I found out I was expecting, he'd already left, and I had no way of finding him. My mother was furious. She took me to Juneau, to stay with her sister. And when little Ben was born…" Sarah's smile was gone now, replaced by an expression of sheer, naked pain. "They took him from me. The said it was for the best."

"I'm so sorry." And it was true, Phryne thought. She was sorry, but more than that, she was angry, incredibly, furiously angry at everyone involved in this sad little tale. Everyone except for Sarah, and for Sarah's sake, she tried to keep her composure. But the young woman wasn't even looking at her.

"We never talked about it, all those years. I knew Mother wanted to forget about it, so I kept quiet. But then you showed up, miss, with your story about the plane crash, and you wanted to rent the cabin, and…" Sarah fell silent.

"And it all came back," Phryne finished for her.

"Yes. My mother… She kept going on about you, all through the evening." Sarah looked down. "She… she called you horrible names, whore and slattern and worse. And she said I was just the same, sinful and godless. I told her it wasn't true, that I'd been good all those years, but she wouldn't have it, just kept ranting. And then-" Sarah took a deep, shuddering breath. "Then I mentioned the baby and she said…"

"What did she say?" Jack's tone was full of compassion, but he was still taking notes, Phryne noticed.

"She said 'Thank the Lord for freeing us from _that_ burden, at least.' And then I knew." Sarah looked at Phryne. "My boy is dead, isn't he?"

Phryne nodded. "He was sent to an orphanage, and he died three weeks later."

Sarah sobbed once, but her eyes were dry. "My mother… She'd always claimed he was with a family in Juneau. Good people, who were taking good care of him. But I should have known it was a lie. She'd promised me photos, one every year, and they never arrived. I got suspicious, but I didn't dare ask her. But when she said it… I just knew."

"So what did you do?" Phryne held her breath.

"I… I don't know." Sarah shivered all over. "My mother went out for firewood. She hadn't even noticed her blunder, you see. But for me, it all fell into place, and I…" She closed her eyes, as if to relive the moment. "Everything went bright red. I don't know what happened next. But when I came to my senses again, she was dead on the ground before me, with the axe in her head. And my apron was all covered in blood."

"And then?" Jack's pencil was dancing across the page.

"I went inside." Sarah's voice had an odd quality, as if she was recounting a dream. "I took off the apron and burned it, and I washed the blood from my hands. I locked the door, and I went to bed. I was… not myself, I think. When I woke up in the morning, I thought at first that it had been a nightmare. But then Mr Seward showed up and-" She sobbed once. "It's such a relief to tell you, miss. And you." She smiled wanly at Jack. "I feel better now."

"We will have to inform the police in Fairbanks as soon as possible." Jack's calm tone was a balm for Phryne's frayed nerves. "Do we have your word that you will stay in this house until morning, Miss Granger?"

"Of course. Where would I go?" Sarah looked genuinely surprised at the mere suggestion that she might choose to flee. "Do you… Do you think the Lord will forgive me? Eventually?"

"I'm sure he will." Phryne had trouble keeping her voice steady. _Poor Sarah indeed._ "He's supposed to be merciful, after all."

* * *

They barely made it back to the cabin before Phryne was in his arms, kissing him hungrily, clinging to him like a burr. Jack didn't object. He knew she needed him now, needed _something_ to cope with the depressing story they'd just heard, and if he was honest, he felt much the same.

"Shhhh." When she finally paused for breath, he gently stroked her hair. "I'm here."

"I need you to make love to me, Jack Robinson. Now." Phryne's face was flushed, and she was trembling under his hands.

He raised an eyebrow. "Now?"

"Well, I might need a moment to prepare." Phryne's smile was brittle, and it didn't reach her eyes. "I'll be back in a moment."

"I'm not going anywhere." While he was waiting for her, he slowly started to take off his clothes, carefully folding them and putting them on a chair. He was down to his underwear when she returned.

"Jack." He turned around at the sound of her voice to find her standing in the doorway, stark naked and incredibly beautiful. And he couldn't help himself; the sight of her went straight to his cock. "Make love to me," she repeated, stepping closer and putting her hands around his neck.

He groaned as she brushed her body against him, then pulled her close to make her feel how much he wanted her. Phryne gasped, closing her eyes.

"Phryne. I love you." He breathed a kiss on her cheek, but she shook her head. "Don't speak. Just-" Grabbing his right hand, she brought it up to her bare breast, moulding his fingers around the perfect globe. "Yes. Good."

Jack took the hint, kissing her hard and kneading her soft warm flesh, teasing her nipple with his thumb. Phryne whimpered at this, and he knew he had to get his mouth on her, right now. Two quick steps took them to the bed, his remaining clothes came off, and then she was in his lap, and he could feel all of her, touch all of her, so sweet and soft that he nearly lost it.

"Damn it, Phryne." His lips locked around one nipple and he sucked hard, making her cry out with the sudden, sweet shock of it, and at the same time, he was running his hands all over her body, nearly frantic with want. He needed her so badly, her mouth on his, drinking his moans from his lips; her thighs quivering under his hands; her tight, wet heat around his fingers. She felt so good, so perfect, like nothing else in the world, and she was all he could think of right now. Nothing else counted except for this raw need to be inside her, to be joined with her, and it almost frightened him to lose himself like this.

Phryne was just as far gone, her voice a hoarse whisper as she urged him on, _yes, Jack, more, now, please_ , and her desire fed his, spiralling higher and higher until he spread her wide and slid inside her, as deep as he dared. And for a heartbeat, his need was sated, and he was where he wanted to be, but within moments, it returned, stronger and more insistent than before. With a deep groan, he pushed himself up on both arms above her, so he could move freely, and then he let go.

His first deep thrust made her shudder all over, her lips opening in a long sigh, her legs tightening around his waist. Pulling back, he adjusted the angle a little, and the next time was even better. Phryne was mewling at him, as he pushed deep inside her willing flesh.

"More." She was panting now, and flushed all over. "Oh God, Jack, more."

He saw no reason to deny her. With every move he took her higher and higher, focussing so fully on her pleasure that he hardly noticed how close he himself was already, his whole body buzzing with want. Another thrust, deep and slow, and Phryne was beginning to tighten around him, one more, and he felt her unravel, her nails scrabbling frantically at his back, her eyes glazing over. One more sent her over the edge, sobbing and shaking, and he wasted no time in joining her. And it was such a blessed relief, pleasure washing all over him like a warm wave, making him feel alive and happy and free.

Phryne came into his arms afterwards, hiding her face against his chest, and for the longest time, she seemed unwilling to speak. When she finally faced him, there was a stubborn set to her lips that he knew only too well. "Do we _have_ to do it, Jack? Do we really have to hand over the evidence?"

"What else would you have us do?" He knew, of course. But he needed her to say it.

"Well..." Phryne chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. "We could burn the drawings, tell Sarah to be quiet about it, leave the whole thing to the local police. They'll probably blame it on some passing vagabond."

Jack didn't answer right away. Instead he held her gaze for a long moment, then sighed deeply. "Phryne. You once told me to remind you that you are not above the law. That it's not up to you to decide who gets to walk free."

"Yes, but back then, I was talking about _Murdoch Foyle_. He was a monster, a madman. This is different." Phryne took his hand. "Sarah isn't dangerous. The poor girl couldn't hurt a fly."

"And yet, she killed her mother." Jack wasn't about to ignore that fact. "Brutally slaughtered her, in fact. You know just as well as I do that justice needs to be done."

"But this isn't justice, Jack! The poor girl never had a chance." Phryne's eyes were flashing with indignation. "And her mother had it coming, you said so yourself."

"It's not that easy, Phryne!" Jack shook his head. "You heard Sarah. It was a relief for her to finally confess the truth. She needs to atone for what she's done, or she'll never heal. Sarah has spent the past ten years living a lie. Do you want to force her to continue with it?"

"I… No, I don't." Phryne swallowed. "But-"

"And what about Bobby Seward?" Jack hated the look of pain on her face, hated that he was the one causing it, but he knew he had to make her see. "If this case is never solved, people will keep blaming it on him. You know what small town gossip is like." She didn't reply, but the look in her eyes told him he had finally gotten through to her. "We have to let things take their proper course, Phryne. The girl will find a sympathetic jury, I'm sure. And maybe you can help her by paying for a good lawyer. She won't hang for this."

"Maybe not. But she'll be locked up for years." Phryne sighed deeply. "It's so unfair, Jack."

"Life's unfair." He was relieved when she allowed him to pull her into a tight embrace again. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Phryne hugged him tightly once again. "All right. First thing in the morning, we'll go to the store and telegraph the police in Fairbanks."

He nodded, gently stroking her cheek. "Yes. And afterwards…" He kissed her softly. "Afterwards let's head back to Melbourne as soon as we can, shall we? Dot will be so glad to see you again."

"And I'll be glad to be home again." Phryne sighed deeply. "What a day."

"It's all over. Sleep now." He watched her face as she drifted off to sleep. _Home_. Yes. It was time to go home.

 


End file.
